The Red Fern
by crazy-about-books
Summary: Harry wanted a dog, then he hated dogs, then he found a dog, and now he loves that dog. Sherlock is Harry's best friend, but what's a boy to do when he has a dog that his guardian's won't let him have, why love it of course. And he does; he loves Sherlock until his dying day. T for *SPOILERS* major character death.


_**Author's Note:**_** 'Ello, 'ello! This here story is just a teensy idea that had. And yes, it is based slightly off of Where The Red Fern Grows. So, if you've read that book (one of the saddest books I've ever read in my life!) then you might know where I'm going with this...**

**Warnings/Spoilers:****There is a Major Character Death in this Fic.**

**Disclaimer:****I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters affiliated with it. What a sad truth that is...**

The Red Fern

A young boy was sitting on the doorstep looking between his knees at his feet which were tapping out a little tune. He had been ushered out of the house several hours ago. Eager to escape the animosity he felt at home, he had complied. However, he quickly became weary of being avoided like the plague and the dirty looks sent his way. Disheartened, he had returned home, but had been shooed outside once again. So, instead of walking around the neighborhood, he had plopped himself in front of the door. The boy licked his lips; it felt like hours since he had last had a drink.

From inside, he heard the sound of the telly and his aunt asking if his cousin would like an ice pop. The lonely child wished he was inside as well. Perking up, the boy realized that he recognized this particular commercial; it advertised dog food. When the commercial came to a close, the boy hummed along with the jingle and his feet changed tempo to match the new tune. He grimaced as he recalled his obsession with dogs last year. He had had it all planned out. He would get a small dog; small enough to fit in his cupboard so that the dog could sleep with him. The dog would be white with a black paw. It would be perfect. Then his aunt came.

At first the boy was excited when he learned that she raised dogs. He had planned to ask if he could someday pay for one of them. However, his hopes were dashed the moment she first saw him. He had looked at her with hope filled eyes while she looked at him in disdain. Giving a great sniff she asked, "This is him then? Little runt. If he were a dog, he would've found himself on the bottom of a lake by now." Harry had felt his heart sink; no help from her then.

He still might've wanted a dog if it hadn't been for Tough and Ripper. Tough was an ugly old bulldog who, in the boy's opinion, was a lot like his aunt. She was fat, lazy, and liked to glare and growl at him, just like Tough did. Ripper was Tough's puppy, but was ten times worse. He would glare as well, but he would also chase the young child and try to bite him. Tough and Ripper had helped him realize that dogs weren't friends, they were fiends. If he was to get a pet he wanted something soft and cuddly and nice. His pet would be everything those two vicious animals weren't. First and foremost, he would _not_ get a dog.

The boy looked up through his bangs as he heard a rustle.

"Hello?"

Out of the bushes there stepped a thing of nightmares. It was a huge, black, shaggy, dog. The boy, eyes wide with fear, cringed back into the shade beside the house, too terrified to run. For what seemed like ages nothing happened, then the dog sat back on his haunches, let his tongue loll out of his mouth and gave what seemed to be a grin. The boy still did not move, frozen with fear. His eyes however followed as the dog lied down, turned onto his back and waved its paws in the air. The child couldn't help the twitch of his lips at the sight. This dog didn't seem too bad. Hesitantly, he slipped out of the shade and gave the dog a small smile. Apparently the dog, despite first appearances, did not share the same feelings. When the boy stepped out of the shade, the dog had frozen and then promptly rolled back over and began to growl. Again the boy froze and was helpless to do anything.

Hadn't he learned his lesson? Didn't he know by now that dogs were _not_ nice, no matter what the books his teacher read to him said? He watched, shaking like a leaf, as the black animal stalked towards him. Once the beast's snout approached his face the boy's eyes slid shut, only to open once he hears a great whine. The dog was _right there_. The dog's muzzle nudged his cheek and the boy winced. That cheek still bore the bruise that his cousin had given him. There was another whine and then there was wetness on his cheek. The dog had licked him! Still, the boy did not move. The dog moved again so all of it was in sight, and gave such a miserable look that the frightened child felt that he owed the dog an explanation.

"It's alright. That's just my cousin, he doesn't like me much."

That did not seem to cheer up the dog. In fact, it looked even more dejected.

"Hey, it's not so bad. And I don't mind. Really" The dog just whined. Feeling a tad bolder, the boy approached the dog and crouched in front of it.

"If I don't mind then you shouldn't either. Listen, don't you worry." A hand reached out to pet the dog's head.

To the boy's surprise, the dog leaned into his touch.

"You're not so bad, are you? What's your name then, boy? You are a boy, aren't you?" The dog just barked and wagged its tale. "I'll take that as a yes." The child moved his hand to search for a collar. There was none.

"Hmm, are you lost? Or do you just not have an owner?" The dog sat up proudly, but the child did not know how to interpret that. "Well, I can't go around calling you 'dog' or 'boy'." The child made a face. Looking around quickly, he leaned towards the dog. "My uncle calls me 'boy'. I don't like it very much." Once again, the dog began to growl.

The child decided that the dog was angry for him, not at him, but that didn't stop his twinge of fear. As if he realized that he was scaring the boy, the dog stopped growling to look at him. The dog's eyes were filled with such sorrow it even made the boy sad.

"Hey, hey. It's okay." The boy went back to petting the dog and studied the animal before him carefully. "Hmm, let's see…I'll call you… Sherlock." The dog—Sherlock—sat back on its haunches and gave such an incredulous look that the child began to feel indignant.

"I like that name." He insisted affronted. "You're big and black and mysterious-like. Sherlock Holmes solved lots of mysteries. Tommy Wilkes, a boy in my class, said that he was gonna be a detective, and my teacher asked him if he was going to be like Sherlock Holmes. Mrs. Riley said that he was the greatest detective that ever was, and you're surely the greatest dog that ever was. See, it fits."

In response to the young boy's fervent explanation, the dog leaned forward and licked the knee in front of him in acquiescence.

"I knew you would like it. Well, Sherlock, it's nice to meet you. My name's Harry."

~.~.~.~

From that moment on, Harry loved that dog. As often as he could, he would sneak food from the kitchen and scraps from the table for Sherlock. For a long time he worried that the Dursley's would find the dog and take him or that he would get sent to the pound. However, strange as it was, no one paid Sherlock any mind. In fact it seemed that Harry was the only one who noticed him at all.

Shortly after Sherlock arrived a lot of strange people started showing up. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't like these people at all. Whenever they tied to talk to them, Harry's aunt and uncle would make funny faces and start yelling. The yelling wasn't funny though: Harry knew that very well. At least the strange people were very nice. Sometimes, when Harry was alone, they would come and say hello. They were like the policemen who would give presentations at school: always telling him to be safe and to not talk to strangers. (Which was rather odd, Harry thought, considering that _they_ were strangers.) Sometimes these people would bring him sweets. Harry didn't often get sweets because Aunt Petunia said that they would rot his teeth and make him even more horrid to look at. Months passed and the strangers stopped coming as often. Sherlock stayed. It was the best year Harry could remember. With Sherlock as his best friend, Harry stopped feeling as alone and as bullied as he had before.

One day while Harry was being babysat by Mrs. Figg, she told that her nephew was coming to live with her.

"He's fallen on some hard times and I offered him one of my spare rooms. I told him about you and he's very excited to meet you. Personally, I think you two will get on splendidly." She handed him a plate of stale chocolate cake. "He's a quiet one, but don't trust appearances. He's as mischievous as they come and he has morals and sticks by them. He's such a dear and has lived such a hard life. I'm glad that he's finally letting us help him out. You were a big part of that. I kept telling him about this sweet little boy that I babysit who seems so lonely." Harry blushed at the blunt way she talked about him and he was about to protest but she placed another helping of cake into his hands and kept talking. "I suppose he must have felt some of himself in you, you see he was so lonely as a child his parents say. I think he could help you."

Mrs. Figg kept up the constant stream of conversation the entire evening as she usually did and soon he went out the door, knowing less about Mrs. Figg's nephew than the time she spent talking about him would suggest. As Mrs. Figg walked him back to his house, Harry could see Sherlock's massive form walking through the shadows. Harry felt safe just knowing that his dear friend was there.

~.~.~

Probably Harry's favorite memory with Sherlock took place before all of this. It was a weekend, Harry only knows this because he had been at the park and he wasn't allowed at the park on school days, and Harry had been playing on the merry-go-round. He was sitting on the edge his feet pushing against the ground making him go round and round and round and round and round and round and-

There was an abrupt jerk and the ride froze. In front of him was Dudley's group of friends all glaring at him. Harry wondered what he had done this time, it must've been bad to make them all this mad.

"Hey, freak." Dudley's fat chin wobbled. "Why don't you let us have a go?"

The rest jeered at the small boy. "Yeah, freak. It's our turn. We want to try." Harry was stubborn, he never got to play; it was his turn.

"No."

Dudley's face scrunched up hideously. "Little freak Potter. I'll teach you to say no to me." Harry recognized lots of these words to be words that Uncle Vernon had used before. Then, with another jerk, the merry-go-round was shoved into action. Harry gripped the handle bars on either side of him before he could be thrown off. It didn't stop the sudden motion from jarring him terribly, though. The ride was slowing when there was another shove into the other direction. It seemed that Dudley's friends had caught on. He was being spun harshly one way then another. Harry held on for dear life too terrified to let go and get thrown off. What if he hit his head? There had been a show on the telly one time, a guy had died from being thrown into a wall. The merry-go-round jerked again. Harry didn't want to die. Then there was a bark and the boy felt another jolt of terror. Dudley's friends gave a push in the other direction. Was Sherlock attacking Dudley? He couldn't be. Sherlock would get caught then taken away and Harry would never see him again. Another jolt. The scared child fought back a sob as the merry-go-round was shoved again then-

"Oi, you mangy mutt!" Aunt Marge's words this time. "Watch it!" Harry kept going in circles but he could tell that he was losing speed.

His head was spinning, but as soon as the ride slowed down enough he leapt off.

And landed flat on his face.

He refused to let that stop him though. He stood up slowly, keeping one hand on the ground as long as possible to steady himself then kept walking. The world tilted dangerously, and Harry with it, but soon it eased enough for him to see straight. Once that happened, Harry could see Sherlock running in the grass in great circles with the other larger boys chasing after him. Dudley's face was purple and he was panting furiously, he continued to chase after the dog though and kept shouting at it. The other boys were also slowing down, tiring quickly.

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed. The sight of his tormentors, purple faced and panting, chasing after Sherlock as he ran in circles was ridiculous. Then there was the fact that Sherlock was going so much faster than all of them that he was almost chasing them, and they hadn't yet thought that turning around would save them a lot of effort. Although Harry wasn't about to tell them that. He couldn't have anyways through his tears of laughter.

Then, when Dudley stopped running, Sherlock ran towards Harry. He didn't stop, but just glanced at him and Harry was glad. Sherlock was smart. Smart enough to know that if Sherlock was in any way connected with Harry, one of them would be in trouble. Probably both. He watched as Sherlock ran away then glanced at Dudley. The fat boy was still lying flat on the ground panting and the others were barely recovering. So Harry took his chance and ran.

Later, Harry was sitting on a kerb with Sherlock at his side. Harry had thrown his arms around the black dog and was thanking him furiously. Sherlock just licked his ear. Laughing, Harry rubbed the slime off on Sherlock's fur.

"You're disgusting."

For the rest of the day, until Harry had to go home, he spent the time with Sherlock; his best friend. Harry hadn't been sure if dogs were allowed to be best friends, but that was the day he decided he didn't care if it was allowed or not. Sherlock was his best friend and that was that.

(When he told Sherlock this the black dog gave a small bark and let his tongue loll out, but he didn't seem quite as cheerful as usual.)

That wasn't his favorite memory because Sherlock had saved him, although that did help some, it was his favorite because that was when he realized what it truly meant to have a friend. Friends were there to stand by you and to laugh with you and to listen to and comfort you...and save you...from others and from your own unhappiness. It was an amazing revelation that left behind an amazing feeling. He also realized that dogs could be friends and that he had the perfect example right beside him.

That was why that was his favorite memory, because of the emotion.

~.~.~

It wasn't the strongest emotion that was associated with his dear friend though. No, that emotion came later, shortly after Mrs. Figg had told Harry about her nephew.

He and Sherlock had been walking along the road aimlessly together. Sherlock was yipping at birds while Harry laughed in between telling him stories. Harry treasured Sherlock more than anything and was ever so glad for his companionship. If only things could remain perfect forever.

In the young boy's hand was a stack of paper that contained his homework, as well as grades for the project he had turned in. He was overjoyed at the results. He had done his reading project on the book _Where the Red Fern Grows_ by Wilson Rawls. When starting the book, Harry hasn't really known what it was about except that it was about a boy who owned a pair of dogs. Because of this, he had thought it would be a perfect book to do a project on.

And it had been. Harry had loved that book and had soaked it up eagerly. Then he reached the mountain lion. He had relished the action as any young boy does but then Big Dan...

When he read that Dan had sacrificed his life for Billy, Harry had felt his heart freeze. The only thing that had kept him reading was the surety that the dog would survive. Books were there for the happy endings. It was in books that life was good and happy and perfect. But no, Big Dan had died and Harry couldn't stop crying. His eyes had been blurry since Dan had been injured, but when he read that Dan was gone for good, dead, the words on the page had become too illegible to read. For a long time, Harry hadn't been able to continue the book. He didn't want to read about the other boy's grief, because he knew that as he read he would feel it keenly.

As the deadline for his project drew nearer, he began picking up the book for short periods of time. Crying first as Little Anne followed Big Dan and then at the discovery of the red fern. He was able to finish the project on time and the teacher had praised him for his understanding of the book. He almost wished he didn't understand it so well. The longing for companions, the strong friendship the three developed, and the pain of the loss of those companions. Harry was grateful beyond belief that he didn't have to personally experience that loss.

Reaching out, the boy intertwined his fingers in Sherlock's fur. When the dog glanced curiously at Harry, the boy just smiled. All of a sudden there came a shout.

"HARRY!" It was a man that Harry had never seen before, but he sounded horrified and slightly frightened.

Harry had no idea what he had done but didn't have the time to contemplate the question. When the man had shouted he had startled Harry so badly that his grasp on his papers had loosened, allowing them to get blown out of his hands and across the road. Without thinking Harry ran after them.

The Dursley's didn't like it when Harry got better grades than Dudley, but they _really _didn't like it when he didn't bring them home. They called him lazy and ungrateful and said that he made them look bad and all sorts of horrid things. It didn't even cross his mind that maybe it wasn't a good idea to go running into the road. He probably would have kept going if the thought had.

What felt like barely a second had passed before something slammed into his back, sending him flying. There was the sound of a sickening thud immediately followed by a pained yelp then the squealing of tires.

After a moment where Harry was too stunned to do anything, he rolled onto his back and slowly sat up. The man who had shouted was crouching next to him, once again sounding panicked.

"Harry! Merlin, are you all right? Please, Harry, say something. Are you all right." Hands fluttered over him taking note of the scrapes on his face and hands and down his fore arms and the holes in his jeans from where he hit the asphalt.

He wasn't able to reply to the frantic pleadings though. His eyes were glued to whimpering, dark mass mere feet from him. He could hear the frantic talking and shouts of people exiting their homes. When he was finally able to unstick his tongue, Harry was only able to utter one word.

"Sherlock..."

"Harry? What-?" The man seemed confused, but Harry ignored him.

"Sherlock." He scrambled forwards, trying to reach the suffering animal. Strong arms grabbed him around the waist.

"No, Harry don't." The child immediately started to struggle; he had to get to Sherlock, he had to.

"Let go! Let me GO!" Somehow, he successfully drove an elbow into the man's stomach and the man's grasp loosened, just as much due to surprise as well as pain.

As soon as he was released, Harry crawled as quickly to his friend as he possibly could. Feeling tears sting his eyes, Harry reached out and let the tips of his fingers gently run along the black fur. Sherlock whimpered and Harry let out a sob. There was still talking going on all around him. Someone was talking to a 999 operator and there were people milling about him and in the distance there was someone shouting 'She's in labor!' He ignored it all.

"SherlockSherlockSherlockSher lock..." his voice was nothing more than a whisper and a sob. Harry shifted so that he was sitting in front of Sherlock and moved to gently petting Sherlock's head.

A hand landed on Harry's shoulder, and he was just about to shrug it off when Sherlock started writhing. He felt himself pale.

"Sherlock? What's wrong? Sherlock?" He felt the hand on his shoulder tighten and a voice whispered close to his ear,

"Why Sirius? Why must you always cause a scene?"

And before Harry's eyes, Sherlock was changing. His body elongated and the piteous whimpers escaping his ever shrinking muzzle began to sound more like humanoid grunts and gasps. Then, where Sherlock had once lain, dying, there was now a black haired man. Harry shrank back slightly into the warm body behind him. The black haired man's mouth twitched with a small smile.

"Hey, kido."

"Sh-Sherlock?" The voices around him were louder now, more panicked and confused.

"Heh, still think... that name's too frilly f'me. But... you're a good kid, Harry. A sight b'tter than I c'ld've wished." Harry was confused, so terribly confused, but it still hurt him to think that his Sherlock was dying. The man gave another smile this one a bit bigger, then his attention shifted to the man behind Harry. "Remus, nice seeing y'gain."

A humorless laugh sounded from behind him and the hand on his shoulder moved to grip the black hair man's shoulder. "Been a long time, yeah?" Then. "Tell me, please, why did you betray them? I need to know why."

"Didn't." Sherlock, or whoever it was, was breathing a lot shallower now and his eyes were drifting shut, but the man behind him, Remus, wasn't going to let him. He shook Sherlock vigorously.

"But you admitted it! You told everybody that you killed Lily and James, you said..."

"Did kill them... not on p'pose... switched...right b'fore... Peter..." Behind him, Harry could feel Remus shaking.

"You mean that..."

"Always was a rat."

"Why didn't you say something. You didn't have to go to Azkaban."

Sherlock smiled at the man, but he seemed barely aware of what was going on. "D'serv'd it...m'best fr'nds...d'serv'd it..." Sherlock fell still.

"No, no," Harry suddenly found himself forced to the side and looking at Sherlock he could see Remus bent over Sherlock, or was it Sirius, crying, "nonono, you didn't deserve it, Sirius. It wasn't your fault. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Harry suddenly felt terribly lonely. Looking at Remus crying over what wasn't really Sherlock made Harry realize that Sherlock wasn't his. Harry's best and only friend wasn't really _his_. He had been a stray, someone had probably owned him first, maybe even loved him more. Before, Harry hadn't thought that possible, but watching now, he just didn't know. Was Sherlock even really Sherlock? No dog could change into a human. Was this some sort of joke? Had Sherlock even really cared? Harry recalled how, for most of the man's-dog's last moments, his eyes had been on Remus, not Harry. Had he cared? Harry's stomach clenched with the absolute certainty that he _didn't matter_. And then he was running. The air was filled with the pained cries of some woman, panicked voices trying to calm everybody down, people wondering what was going on and what had happened with the man and the dog, and the distant sound of approaching sirens. Harry ignored it all, just focusing on getting away. Away from the hurt and the chaos and the confusion, away from everything.

He didn't know how long he had run or where he was, but he was still in the neighborhood. Breathing heavily he started to slow but a familiar yell came from behind him.

"Harry!" No, not him, anyone but him. He started to run again."Come back!" Harry turned abruptly.

"NO! Just leave. Me. ALONE! I don't want-" Harry kept walking backwards, taking a slow step away from Remus for every one the man took towards him. "I don't- just leave me alone. It's- It's your fault he's dead." It was a barb intended to hurt, and it appeared to work as the man's step faltered and he paled horribly, but he kept walking. "If you hadn't shouted at me, if you hadn't come here at all, he- he wouldn't be- " Harry's throat closed up and he all at once felt very tired. "I just- I don't-" He just didn't know. Slowly, he sank onto the pavement and let the tears run freely. What was the point of running? Soon Remus was there kneeling in front of him.

"What's going to happen?" Harry's voice was small, but he needed to know.

"The obiviators have arrived. By now, they will have erased everyone's memory. By all accounts, Sirius will have been a normal dog, and you were never there. Dumbledore was able to pull a few strings, and the wizarding world will never know of your involvement. Some people will need to come by and ask you some questions, but," Remus took a deep breath, "it will be all right." Harry wanted to argue and say that it wasn't all right, but it seemed that the man was barely holding himself together. Then there was the matter of what he had just said, he hadn't under stood most of it, but something he heard caused his whole body to full with dread.

"They won't make me forget, will they?"

"No," arms wound around him, "You will never forget him. He will always be there, I promise."

~.~.~

It was a long time before Harry was able to fully trust Remus. And even longer before the man was able to clear Sirius' name. Harry wasn't ever able to think of his Sherlock as the man Remus spoke so fondly of and often forgot the two were in truth the same person.

It also took Harry a while to apologize for the cruel words he had said to Remus, although the guilt of it had often kept him up at night. At Hogwarts things kept moving and eventually, he was able to remember Sherlock without pain and share fond stories of him with Ron and Hermione. Hermione greatly appreciated that Harry had named him Sherlock after such a great literary character and had spent a long time talking about the great detective before realizing that Harry had never actually read the books.

Then, when going to meet Voldemort, he saw them. His parents, Remus, who he had come to love and view as a father, and Sirius. He drank in the sight of all of them, then, when he came to Sirius, he stared at the man's face. With a pang, he realized that though he had heard all about this man and regretted not having the opportunity to really know him, it was the knowledge that this was _Sherlock_ that really drew him. In silent understanding, Sirius transformed.

With a bark that only Harry could hear, Sherlock ran to him. With a large grin, Harry fell to his knees and scratched the dog's shaggy ears. He bent over the black head and whispered, "I missed you, Sherlock."

Hands still scratching the dog's ears, he looked up at the others. He took in their proud faces and contented grins and felt that he could do this. He would: for them and everybody else who loved someone enough to die.

~.~.~

It was a happy and peaceful Harry Potter that left the earth years later. He was old and had a large family that loved him. Several of his grandkids had named their pets after Sherlock, deciding that that was the perfect pet name. By that time, Sherlock had been everything from a lizard to an owl or a rock or plant.

Still, Sirius Black had always been the best Sherlock _and_ the best dog in the world.

And always would be.

~Fin

_**2nd A/N:****I highly recommend that you guys read Where the Red Fern Grows if it is available to you. It is truly remarkable.**_


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